The blazing sun stood
high,
The masses pressed
along the bend
To view the runner
nigh.
With every step, his
pounding heart
Pulsed only for the
goal,
No fellow caught his
steadfast gaze—
He ran with strength
and soul.
Amidst the crowded
throng, a man
Regarded every move,
His eye filled with a
father’s care,
His courage it
behooved.
Then, suddenly, a
gasp arose,
The mighty now was
fallen!
The faces that were
filled with joy
Now gazed on, grave and
sullen.
Bursting from the stands,
one dashed
To his beloved’s side,
Urging with a
father’s love
He bade his son resign.
But, through the pain
and agony,
The wounded son replied,
“I cannot quit! I
will not quit!
I’ll cross the finish line.”
Then lifting up the
fallen,
The father held his
son—
And arm in arm, step
by step,
The two continued on.
Together, to the
finish line,
Together in the race,
Supported by his
father’s hand,
The faithful set his
face.
Captured
by the tender sight
The crowd watched
breathlessly,
Then, broke forth
wild in applause
As they crossed
victoriously.
Not to the swift, nor
yet the strong,
Is life’s compelling
race,
But to the faithful,
though cast down,
Who keep a steady
pace.
Yet, e’re the runner meets
the ground,
The Father comes
along,
And, lifting up His
fallen one,
Restores the triumph
song.
Holding fast His
weary one--
Supported by His
grace--
Together, they press
onward,
Together, win the
race.
Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2016
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